


Making Sure

by rei_c



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Caught watching porn, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, So Sweet It'll Rot Your Teeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-06
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 11:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12934740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: Dean forgets to clear his browsing history and Sam decides it's time to ask the question.





	Making Sure

Dean's sitting cross-legged on his bed, in his room, with his door closed, when Sam comes in without knocking.

Thank every god Dean doesn't believe in that Dean's only cleaning his guns and listening to Iron Butterfly while smoking a joint -- half an hour ago he was jerking off and not being that quiet about it. Of course, half an hour ago, Sam was just getting out of school, which: timing is everything.

"What the fuck," Dean says, mildly for him at such a blatant invasion of privacy. Usually he'd be snapping and snarling like a feral dog on a chain at Sam coming in without at least knocking first; they so rarely get their own rooms that even though this place is crap and Dad's never around, even though they have barely enough money for more food than PB&Js and no cable, they defend their spaces viciously.

...All right, _fine_ , occasionally Dean misses having Sam right there, in a bed next to him or in the same bed, next to him, but the need to make sure Sam's okay at every minute of every pitch-black night when Dean wakes up from dreams of fire is balanced out by the fact that Dean is 22, Sam will be 18 soon, and privacy to jerk off or bring back girls can't be overstated.

Also, Sam's allergic to something in this shitty-ass house or town so Dean can hear him snoring half the house away.

Dean picks up the joint, inhales and passes it over to Sam, eyebrow raised in question.

"Y'know what, yeah," Sam says, and he sits down on the edge of the bed, takes the joint and smokes.Dean's trying to decide whether he should be concerned or proud but Sam passes the joint back after a couple puffs, saying, "That might make this easier."

"Might make what easier?" Dean casually -- or so he thinks, evidently failing at the look Sam gives him -- pushes the guns to the side. He asks, "What's up? You break the computer? Eat the last few pieces of bread? Or find something on Dad's hunt?" 

Sam licks his lips, runs a hand through his hair. "Uh. Not exactly. I was -- I was starting some homework, right, and -- look, there's no easy -- you never cleared your browsing history, Dean."

Dear grins, can't help it, as he elbows Sam gently. "What, we need to have the sex talk again? So I forgot to clear the bootleg hentai, I'm sorry, my bad, I'll do better."

"That's not --." Sam stops, looks down at the ground, and says, so quietly that Dean almost can't hear him, "It was gay porn, Dean. And every single video was -- they were all pretending to be brothers."

...Fuck.

Also, fucking _no way_. Dean deleted that, he's not suicidal, Dad would kill him for thinking about it, no one was ever supposed to know. 

_Sam_ was never supposed to know.

"We can't just both pretend it was an accident?" Dean asks. "I clicked the wrong link?"

"You had some of them bookmarked, Dean," Sam says. There's a pause, one in which the sweet tang of pot and the sinking sensation in his stomach are pretty much all Dean's aware of -- other than the growing panic -- and Sam asks, "Is it -- is it just some kind of kink or do you -- y'know."

Okay, nope, now it's just the growing panic.

There's a sudden blare of sirens from down the street that sends Dean's heart rate through the roof, has him flinching at the unexpected noise as one hand instinctively goes to cover the space over his heart.

"We should go see if --" he starts to say.

Sam cuts him off, says, "Not until we're done here," and finally looks at him. Sam's cheeks are red, probably from the pot, and the pot's probably responsible for the blown pupils and the flush running down his neck. "Okay? I just -- I gotta know, Dean."

Dean gives Sam the kind of smile that's an answer all of its own, looks at the kid brother he loves in all the wrong ways, and says, "There's no going back from this, Sam. You knew that as soon as you decided to ask. You really need me to say it?"

"Yeah," Sam says. "I really think I do."

"It's incest and it's illegal and if Dad knew, he'd probably cut my balls off and string me up by my dick, but -- I'm sorry, Sam, no," he says. "It's not just a kink."

Dean holds Sam's gaze for as long as he can -- Dean owes his brother that much -- but eventually he has to look away. There's too much love and sympathy and understanding there for Dean to make sense of.

\-- Except then Sam's clambered onto his lap, has his hands on Dean's cheeks, and is smiling like Dean just handed him the moon. "Thank god," Sam says, firmly, and then he leans in and fits his mouth to Dean's.

It's not the best kiss Dean's ever gotten -- he has a top-ten and the first spot has always belonged to Selena Martinez; Dean was with her for three months when he was sixteen and they were living outside Albuquerque, and she could kiss to make just _watching_ be a sin -- but it's Sam. Fuck, he's been jerking off to thoughts of his little brother for years and now Sam's here, voluntarily, all on his own, in Dean's lap and licking at the inside of Dean's mouth like he's searching out the last Lucky Charms marshmallow. If this isn't the best kiss Dean's ever gotten, it's still the only one he's ever truly wanted and thought he never had a hope of getting.

He takes Sam's shoulders in his hands, pushes gently, and the tiny, non-verbal whine Sam makes nearly does Dean in right then and there. He doesn't stop, though, merely gives his brother a close look, and asks, "Why?"

Sam shrugs one shoulder, says, "I'm not really sure when it started for me. And I don't know why we're -- y'know. Maybe it's because of how we grew up or because we've never really had anyone else besides each other, but -- I mean, I know you've slept with a lot of girls, Dean, but they didn't really mean anything. Did they?"

"Not really," Dean says, slow and careful as he watches Sam. 

"So," Sam goes on, and there's a little less tension in his shoulders now, "anyway, I don't -- I mean, until I saw those videos, I thought maybe I was the only one. Thought I'd been imagining some of the looks you've given me. Thought maybe those times I saw you at night, I was just dreaming or something."

Sam ducks his head; Dean feels floored. "I never meant for you to -- is it my fault? Did you start thinking like this 'cause you saw me? Is it something I did?"

It takes a second for Sam to look back up, meet Dean's eyes. He looks shocked -- but also like he's just heard the most hilarious thing ever.

"Dean," Sam says. "I just said that I was never sure if you felt the same way, so how could I have started -- but yeah, it is your fucking fault, okay?" Dean's panic is back, blooms into high-spring haze in the split before he realizes Sam's still talking. "You're so -- you're so _you_. Everyone falls in love with you without you even doing anything, you think I'm any different? But, like, I get even more than everyone else. I get fourth of Julys and diner milkshakes and falling asleep on the couch or bed in front of stupid b-horror movies because you somehow unironically love them even though they're --"

Dean cuts him off there. "Wait," he says. "Just -- hold on. You've -- in love?"

Sam looks at Dean with a fondness that Dean's never seen before. Or, no, wait, he has, but only briefly, out of the corners of his eyes or when Sam thinks he's not looking. 

Christ. Sam's _in love_ with him. _Sam_ is in _love_ with _him_.

"Shit," Dean breathes. There's a moment where the expression on Sam's face looks like it might crumble, but it evens out, smoothes over, and Dean fucking hates it. That's the look Sam gives everyone who isn't him, including Dad, and -- "No, no, don't do that, stop it with that face," and then Dean's the one who goes in for the kiss, is practically attacking Sam's mouth with all the desperate, heart-rending adoration he feels, because words have never been Dean's strong suit and this is, he's pretty sure, a situation for which the right words haven't even been invented.

"Never thought you'd -- didn't wanna," Dean's sputtering when Sam leans back, leans away, but he presses his forehead to Dean's, grinning. That makes Dean calm down, mutter, "Yeah, well, ditto." Sam flushes bright red and Dean can't help letting a quick kiss ghost across his brother's lips. Christ, the kid's gonna kill him.

"So," Sam says, once the silence has gone on for -- Dean doesn't actually know how long, to be honest. "What -- um. What now? Since we, y'know."

Dean smiles, can't help it, and a moment later, he's got Sam pinned underneath him, looking up at him with echoes of a surprised yelp ringing in his ears. Jesus. Dean just wants to eat Sam alive, every square fucking inch of him. "Don't got any money to take you out on a date," Dean says.

"I'm not a fucking girl," Sam says, but he's trying not to laugh so he's clearly more happy with the idea than insulted by it. "Besides, I've seen you with food poisoning; the romance is kinda dead when I know what it's like watching you shit your pants and throw up at the same time." He pauses, gives Dean a _look_ , and adds, "Definitely dead when I was the one who watched you eat that Chinese in the first place and then had to do your laundry afterwards."

Dean says, "Hey, fuck you," like he's insulted. "Maybe I don't wanna take you out anyway. You're still kind of a shrimp -- people see me out with you, it'll ruin my reputation."

Sam does actually laugh at that -- he's grown like a weed the past year and a half -- laughs and says, "What reputation? It's Friday and you're sitting at home cleaning guns and smoking a joint by yourself. You only smoke when you're not going out, so you didn't even have plans." It's warms something inside of Dean to know that Sam knows that, has been watching closely enough to figure that out, because Dean's never come right out and said it before. Dean must be thinking about that for too long, because Sam says, again, "What now, Dean?" 

"Well," Dean says, "first we -- and I hate to say this; you're going to know I hate saying this -- we have a talk. A long talk. And then -- I dunno. I guess we see what happens."

"'Kay," Sam says. Dean narrows his eyes; Sam never agrees that easily, this is too suspicious. He's right to worry because Sam asks, all too innocently, "But can we do some more kissing first? Just to make sure." 

Like hell Sam's not sure about this. Dean can practically read the devotion right out of Sam's eyes, and nothing in the goddamned universe will ever be as important to him as Sam. Sam asked, Dean answered, they're pretty much a joined set at this point, at least in Dean's book -- and if Dean has anything to say about it, Sam's not ever gonna change his mind. 

"To make sure," Dean echoes, grinning at the mischief he can see dancing in Sam's eyes. "Yeah. I think we can do that."


End file.
